


Mais Quoi Que Je Fasse À La Fin

by oneprotagonistshort



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneprotagonistshort/pseuds/oneprotagonistshort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course it was in fucking French, it was always fucking French with Thom. But as the music dropped out a little for a new verse, Rook figured out what sounded so familiar. Thom’s singing voice was his <i>fucking sex voice.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mais Quoi Que Je Fasse À La Fin

**Author's Note:**

> set in the same universe as [Lightspeed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/904530), both of which are part of a much larger AU that I've had in my head since 2010 but am unlikely to flesh out completely outside of short little bursts of gratuitous porn. for the sake of this AU, Rook is 19 (boy got held back a year) so everyone is totally legal and consenting yay!
> 
> special thanks to kit for the literal three years of support!

_Je ne suis qu’un soul man  
Écoute ça baby…_

Rook walked through Thom’s front door only to be greeted by a wall of sound so loud that the only possible explanation was a full jazz band in Thom’s foyer. He knew the layout of the small house well enough to make his way to the tiny kitchen that, despite its size, packed a pretty powerful punch in appliances. Thom had explained it once, something about the recent renovation being the reason he’d bought the place even though the basement flooded every time it rained and the washing machine barely worked most days. Apparently Thom liked to cook. Not that Rook had been paying attention, of course. It was just that Thom liked to talk and sometimes shit got through.

The music only got louder as Rook pushed open the swinging door that lead to the kitchen, and he could only stand there and laugh at what he saw. Thom was still in his school outfit, though his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his tie was undone and draped over a chair nearby. He was turned away from Rook and gesturing wildly with a spoon, which judging by the mass of chocolate chips stuck to it, was covered in what Rook could only imagine was cookie dough. He had a huge mixing bowl in his hands and powdered sugar on his face and Rook wanted to lick it off. Maybe it was because he was so used to Thom in uptight-teacher mode, but something about seeing him with flour in his hair and without the usual stick up his ass just made Rook want to mess him up a little more.

He wondered vaguely if they could incorporate the soon-to-be cookies into sex.

Except… Thom was singing. Rook had never heard him sing before. It tugged a little on a corner of Rook’s brain that he couldn’t quite place, so rather than interrupting and mocking him until the cookies were done, Rook decided to let Thom sing.

_Je ne suis pas un superman  
Loin de là…_

Of course it was in fucking French, it was always fucking French with Thom. But as the music dropped out a little for a new verse, Rook figured out what sounded so familiar.

Thom’s singing voice was his _fucking sex voice._

The realization was what prompted Rook into action. He stepped the rest of the way through the doorway, and rather than fiddle with the seemingly endless number of buttons on Thom’s iPod, he unplugged the speakers from the wall completely. Thom startled and turned around, ears going red when he realized he’d been caught.

“Rook,” he started, but Rook cut him off by taking the bowl and spoon out of his hands and setting them aside so he could back Thom into the counter. Rook penned him in with an arm on either side and leaned in to lick a slow stripe up Thom’s neck. He tasted like sugar, and Rook felt Thom go lax.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Rook said into his ear. 

“I’m _baking,_ ” Thom said, and Rook could practically hear his eyes rolling. “I’m not exactly trying to keep up appearances, here.”

“I like it,” said Rook, and he pulled back just enough to see Thom’s startled expression.

“What?” he asked, a little dumbstruck. “Why?”

Rook leaned in again and kissed him as painstakingly slowly as he could, making every effort to take Thom apart with just his mouth and being rewarded with the dull thud of Thom collapsing back into the counter. “Because,” Rook clarified when he finally pulled away, “when you sing you sound like you’ve been screaming my name for hours.”

Thom’s throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly. “Oh,” he said. 

Already working on Thom's belt, Rook grinned. "How much more do you think I can fuck you up?"

"Rook, there are cookies in the oven, we shouldn't- this is hardly sanitary-" but he stopped protesting when Rook finally got his pants open. 

Grinning, Rook began to stroke Thom’s hardening cock and said, “I don’t mind if you don’t.” The chuckle from Thom that quickly became a groan was a good enough answer for Rook.

He started slow, he liked to watch Thom's breath hitch when he rocked his hips up to try follow Rook's hand. He moved incrementally faster, only picking up the pace when Thom urged him on with a stuttered _"o-oh"_ or when his hands flexed where he was holding onto the counter for dear life.

Rook still hadn't gotten what he wanted, though. "Where's all that noise you were making earlier?" he asked, finally moving his hand at the speed he knew Thom liked. When Thom moaned louder, he grinned. "That's right, professor. Let me hear you."

"Fuck, you can't just-" Thom started, voice low and rough, and he threw his head back with another groan. Whatever he was about to say got lost when his hips stuttered once, twice, and he was coming all over Rook's hand. 

Rook laughed and grabbed a nearby dish towel to clean up with. "See? Fucking sex voice."

It was right then that the oven began to beep, indicating that the first batch of cookies was done. As Thom hurried to take the tray out of the oven he said, "You don't have to look so smug about it. It’s not exactly hard to get me into my sex voice when you jump me in my kitchen and start calling me professor.”

“You do like that, don’t you?” Rook asked, snatching a cookie and valiantly not wincing when it burned his mouth.

Thom picked up the mixing bowl where it had been abandoned on the countertop and resumed stirring as if nothing had happened. Rook was trying not to look affronted by the lack of reciprocation when Thom said, “Can you clear the kitchen table for me?”

“I’m not your fucking maid,” Rook scoffed, crossing his arms.

“No, you’re not,” said Thom in the infuriatingly patient voice he only used when Rook was being particularly petulant, “but I plan on eating this cookie dough off your stomach as soon as it’s mixed and I thought the kitchen table might be a good place to do that.”

Rook laughed. “You’re a fucking deviant, you know that?”

The grin that briefly flashed across Thom’s face was even more devious than Rook had come to expect, and it was gone in a second. “I learned from the best,” he deadpanned in full teacher-mode. “Now do you want to do this or not?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Rook said, and he started grabbing whatever he could reach off the table, finally giving up entirely and just pushing the whole mess of books and place settings off the edge with one sweep of his arm. He heard glass shatter, but he knew Thom would forgive him. It was a lot easier to win someone over with sex than with cookies, and Rook had both.


End file.
